The Immigrant was the first Chaplin film I ever saw. In the early 1950s, with little pocket money for the shows in the village cinema and virtually no TV ownership, the occasional Sunday film afternoons organized at the home of a school friend by an uncle of his were a real treat. The film collection wasn't that big, so I must have seen The Immigrant a dozen times, as one of a dozen kids screaming with delight, even in anticipation of scenes we already knew by heart. Many decades later the film has lost nothing of its quality, never mind that it is from an era when film was a sort of vaudeville theatre shot with a static camera. For a start there is the figure of the Tramp, with his physical agility, precise movements and wonderful range of facial expressions. Then there are the many bizarre types, especially the waiter (Eric Campbell) who frightened me to death when I was a child: a huge man with monstrous eyebrows over bulging eyes, capable of bending coins (false, I know) with his teeth. There is the hilarious rolling of the immigrants' ship, which forces people sitting on opposite sides of a table to take turns shovelling food into their faces and has fat ladies rolling like barrels. Finally, this is one of Chaplin's very 'economical' early shorts: every shot counts. In spite of their great qualities, Chaplin's later, longer films are occasionally a bit sloppy and marred by patches of sentimentality, reminding me bit of Dickens' novels. As do the many bizarre and theatrical characters and the depiction of grinding poverty in Chaplin's films. Dickens, very much a man of the theatre himself, no doubt would have loved film as a medium. A pity Chaplin never took on David Copperfield, Hard Times or Bleak House.
Reviews
5 Reviews
Soldier of Orange
(1977)
Ivanhoe in World War II
24 January 2014
Paul Verhoeven and Rutger Hauer first joined forces when making 'Floris', a Dutch TV series for kids inspired by ITV's 'Ivanhoe', in the late 1960s. While not remotely as well made as its British forerunner - a recent documentary shows that it was very much learning by doing - the episodes you can now watch on YouTube are quite amusing, given the right age and nationality.
'Soldaat van Oranje' (Soldier of Orange) is based on the eponymous memoirs of Erik Hazelhoff Roelfzema, who received the highest Dutch military decoration for his actions during WW II. The book is a ripping yarn, as promised by the title - Hauer, the lead in the film, has called it a 'boys' book'. The fact that it has been turned into a musical as well is another indication that it does not delve deeply into the grim history of the Netherlands during the war.
The film does a fairly good job in touching on many aspects of the occupation of the Netherlands, such as the range of attitudes to the Nazi occupation that existed, from resistance via keeping your head down to joining the SS. The Englandspiel , a deadly 'game' played by the Germans with captured Dutch secret agents sent over by the British Special Operations Executive, inspires much of the story. And judging by what we know about her from newsreels, etc., the exiled Queen Wilhelmina (of Orange-Nassau, formally the soldiers' commander-in-chief) with her odd mannerisms is convincingly played by Andrea Domburg.
However, those who are unfamiliar with Dutch history of these years will not get all the references; and as the tone of the whole film is Ivanhoe-ish, you wonder why so much effort was put into reconstructing reality. There are also scenes that take outright liberties with wartime reality for thrills, though they can be funny. My favourite is the mild bit of sexploitation in the scenes where a girl shows herself in full-length Eve's costume behind open windows in, respectively, Leiden and London (in both cases she stands on a bed placed, very conveniently, right under the window). There is a nice parallel: in Leiden a clearly amused Nazi collaborator looks up; in London the normally very puritanical Queen tries hard not be somewhat amused.
The film's merits are in my opinion greater than that of Verhoeven's much later Black Book. But ripping yarns lose some of their appeal when you know something about the horrors of war (for that reason one of the book's real-life characters actually stayed away from the Hollywood-style gala opening performance of the film in Amsterdam).
I keep wondering whether the starting point of the film could not also have been a starting point for a war film that digs deeper. The type of student fraternity initiation rite shown in the film was common until the 1960s, and this species of adolescent sadism has never gone away completely. Maybe because it does lead to bonding (as I know from experience); but you might be excused for seeing uncomfortable parallels between the pandemonium and the shaven heads of the new students and what happened in Nazi camps: an Amsterdam student fraternity actually had 'Dachautje spelen' ('playing little Dachau') on its initiation programme, during which people are known to have fainted. Later in the film Dutch WA-men (uniformed Nazis) dump a Jewish peddler's handcart in a canal. Is there no link between their playful sadism and 'Dachautje spelen'? Camps similar to Dachau were the peddler's destination. Why do people take things out on those who are weaker, where does the contempt for other human beings come from (which resulted in the murder of over 100,000 Dutch Jews)? But a film exploring those questions might not be a box office success.
'Soldaat van Oranje' (Soldier of Orange) is based on the eponymous memoirs of Erik Hazelhoff Roelfzema, who received the highest Dutch military decoration for his actions during WW II. The book is a ripping yarn, as promised by the title - Hauer, the lead in the film, has called it a 'boys' book'. The fact that it has been turned into a musical as well is another indication that it does not delve deeply into the grim history of the Netherlands during the war.
The film does a fairly good job in touching on many aspects of the occupation of the Netherlands, such as the range of attitudes to the Nazi occupation that existed, from resistance via keeping your head down to joining the SS. The Englandspiel , a deadly 'game' played by the Germans with captured Dutch secret agents sent over by the British Special Operations Executive, inspires much of the story. And judging by what we know about her from newsreels, etc., the exiled Queen Wilhelmina (of Orange-Nassau, formally the soldiers' commander-in-chief) with her odd mannerisms is convincingly played by Andrea Domburg.
However, those who are unfamiliar with Dutch history of these years will not get all the references; and as the tone of the whole film is Ivanhoe-ish, you wonder why so much effort was put into reconstructing reality. There are also scenes that take outright liberties with wartime reality for thrills, though they can be funny. My favourite is the mild bit of sexploitation in the scenes where a girl shows herself in full-length Eve's costume behind open windows in, respectively, Leiden and London (in both cases she stands on a bed placed, very conveniently, right under the window). There is a nice parallel: in Leiden a clearly amused Nazi collaborator looks up; in London the normally very puritanical Queen tries hard not be somewhat amused.
The film's merits are in my opinion greater than that of Verhoeven's much later Black Book. But ripping yarns lose some of their appeal when you know something about the horrors of war (for that reason one of the book's real-life characters actually stayed away from the Hollywood-style gala opening performance of the film in Amsterdam).
I keep wondering whether the starting point of the film could not also have been a starting point for a war film that digs deeper. The type of student fraternity initiation rite shown in the film was common until the 1960s, and this species of adolescent sadism has never gone away completely. Maybe because it does lead to bonding (as I know from experience); but you might be excused for seeing uncomfortable parallels between the pandemonium and the shaven heads of the new students and what happened in Nazi camps: an Amsterdam student fraternity actually had 'Dachautje spelen' ('playing little Dachau') on its initiation programme, during which people are known to have fainted. Later in the film Dutch WA-men (uniformed Nazis) dump a Jewish peddler's handcart in a canal. Is there no link between their playful sadism and 'Dachautje spelen'? Camps similar to Dachau were the peddler's destination. Why do people take things out on those who are weaker, where does the contempt for other human beings come from (which resulted in the murder of over 100,000 Dutch Jews)? But a film exploring those questions might not be a box office success.
A Man Escaped
(1956)
A man triumphs
21 November 2013
Warning: Spoilers
Film is moving images and therefore war films tend to concentrate on the drama, the spectacular side of war: combat. The degree of 'realism' with which films show battles is generally used as a measure of their quality. But unpleasant things like the stench of the battlefield invariably get left out and the spectator is not required to cower in a slit trench. Many war films – even documentaries - are in fact rather like Verdi operas. So 'realism' needs those inverted commas. There are of course excellent Verdi operas, but you might as well go to the other extreme and completely refrain from depicting the horrors of combat in films dealing with war.
Although violence plays a major role in a number of his films, Robert Bresson rarely shows it (' because you know it is false, because it is forced'). He detested what he called 'photographed theatre', the dramatic conventions of film and relied on amateurs speaking in flat voices and showing little or no emotion in their faces and gestures. Combined with natural sound (keys turning in locks, etc.) and carefully observed material details the effect is to create a heightened sense of reality. I feel fully alert when I watch a Bresson film, even though I frankly find some of his work exasperating.
In the case of 'Un condamné à mort s'est échappé' (A man escaped) Bresson's 'minimalist' method results in the best war film I've ever seen. The title sins against narrative orthodoxy by giving the end away. The simple story, which closely follows a real event, may therefore as well be told: during World War II a French resistance fighter named Fontaine is caught, imprisoned and condemned to death. With his inner strength as his main resource and small gestures of solidarity from fellow prisoners he manages to escape.
The film is mainly about the how of the escape: Fontaine turning over the problems in his mind, the preparation of his 'equipment', the nightly stalk out of the prison maze. Much of the action is set in the claustrophobic space of Fontaine's cell. The camera work there is so 'dry' and focused on objects and gestures that I sometimes felt I was watching an instruction film. Well, anyone who has ever been completely absorbed in an urgent activity knows that at that moment there is just the task at hand, no drama. The brief snatches of Mozart accompanying life-affirming contacts with fellow prisoners provide an almost startling contrast.
Bresson is not noted for slapstick, but there are humorous moments in his films. Here the humour comes right at the end: Fontaine and his young cell mate Jost (whom he initially distrusts but who in the end is indispensable for his escape) have left their shoes at one of the hurdles, so they disappear into the darkness with the ginger steps of people hurrying barefoot over gravel. 'If my mother could see me now', Jost blurts out. And Mozart is again heard in all his glory.
Why is this, for me, the best war film? The hero is completely cornered, no escape seems possible. But the worst can be a starting point for salvation. Starting with the unlocking of his handcuffs, Fontaine (who looks more like a priest than a fire-eater – not accidentally, I think) one by one overcomes all obstacles because he opens his mind: 'the wind blows where it will' is the film's subtitle – a quotation from the Bible; Hebrew uses the same word for wind and spirit. And Bresson has me on red alert without any use of pyrotechnics.
Although violence plays a major role in a number of his films, Robert Bresson rarely shows it (' because you know it is false, because it is forced'). He detested what he called 'photographed theatre', the dramatic conventions of film and relied on amateurs speaking in flat voices and showing little or no emotion in their faces and gestures. Combined with natural sound (keys turning in locks, etc.) and carefully observed material details the effect is to create a heightened sense of reality. I feel fully alert when I watch a Bresson film, even though I frankly find some of his work exasperating.
In the case of 'Un condamné à mort s'est échappé' (A man escaped) Bresson's 'minimalist' method results in the best war film I've ever seen. The title sins against narrative orthodoxy by giving the end away. The simple story, which closely follows a real event, may therefore as well be told: during World War II a French resistance fighter named Fontaine is caught, imprisoned and condemned to death. With his inner strength as his main resource and small gestures of solidarity from fellow prisoners he manages to escape.
The film is mainly about the how of the escape: Fontaine turning over the problems in his mind, the preparation of his 'equipment', the nightly stalk out of the prison maze. Much of the action is set in the claustrophobic space of Fontaine's cell. The camera work there is so 'dry' and focused on objects and gestures that I sometimes felt I was watching an instruction film. Well, anyone who has ever been completely absorbed in an urgent activity knows that at that moment there is just the task at hand, no drama. The brief snatches of Mozart accompanying life-affirming contacts with fellow prisoners provide an almost startling contrast.
Bresson is not noted for slapstick, but there are humorous moments in his films. Here the humour comes right at the end: Fontaine and his young cell mate Jost (whom he initially distrusts but who in the end is indispensable for his escape) have left their shoes at one of the hurdles, so they disappear into the darkness with the ginger steps of people hurrying barefoot over gravel. 'If my mother could see me now', Jost blurts out. And Mozart is again heard in all his glory.
Why is this, for me, the best war film? The hero is completely cornered, no escape seems possible. But the worst can be a starting point for salvation. Starting with the unlocking of his handcuffs, Fontaine (who looks more like a priest than a fire-eater – not accidentally, I think) one by one overcomes all obstacles because he opens his mind: 'the wind blows where it will' is the film's subtitle – a quotation from the Bible; Hebrew uses the same word for wind and spirit. And Bresson has me on red alert without any use of pyrotechnics.
Au hasard Balthazar
(1966)
On the other side of sorrow
9 April 2013
A film tends to be judged by its mass appeal: films cost lots of money and therefore film makers normally want them to be seen by lots of people. But that does not mean that film SHOULD be judged by its mass appeal: you do not judge the value of the US publishing industry by the number of murders in westerns and thrillers.
Robert Bresson used the medium of film for unusual purposes. His minimalism stimulates your attention: you scan gestures, looks and shabby interiors for clues. Sounds – a key turning in a lock, a tram passing, a donkey's braying, brief snatches of music - take on a heightened meaning. A few seconds of classical music are often heard when there is a 'window of opportunity' for a human being. True, Bresson demands a lot from the viewer, and with some films I just gave up; but I prefer that to the attitude of many film directors who make me feel insulted: another simpleton has been duped into paying for a piece of trash providing two hours of oblivion.
Bresson disliked acting, as it got in the way of what he wanted to express with his films; instead he worked with amateurs, 'models' who were not allowed to dramatize or psychologize. The most extreme example of his approach is 'Au hasard Balthasar', where the protagonist is a donkey called Balthasar subjected to and witnessing human vices. 'Au hasard' means at random, and all the cruelty seems random. But I wonder, with my imperfect French, whether au hasard in this case could not be a 'call to action': 'au secours' means help!, so maybe 'take your chance (in life)' is a possible translation here.
Although I'm familiar with Bresson's unusual approach it took me a couple of viewings to understand that the 'story' and the 'characters' mean even less in this film than in others. There is a story –Balthasar's successive misadventures and occasional rebellions, ending in death – but it is not a very coherent one, more a succession of scenes illustrating various forms of human shortcomings and nastiness, personified by a variety of well, models. All of this is just there to bring out the patient suffering of the donkey, who in the process becomes, as one of the few decent people in the film says, 'a saint' and dies a painful yet peaceful death. You can see the animal as a symbol of Christ, as many have done, and for a catholic like Bresson it would be a 'natural' symbol. But I'm always wary about symbolism in film - you'd end up needing a user's manual ('this actually means that'), and a film which requires a manual is no good. Rather, Bresson stimulates a sort of hyper-awareness of the world by the way he shows it.
Balthasar's various owners impose a role on the donkey, who usually puts up with it but never becomes a satisfactory actor from a human point of view ('good for you', I always think when a cat refuses to obey). There is a memorable scene where Balthasar is 'employed' in a circus (soon to be kicked out) and is led past cages with other animals. They eye each other; we are briefly in their world: trapped, but never willing servants. When the humans create havoc in the film, the camera zooms in on the donkey's profile, quite still – the eye of the storm, you might say.
I do not value this film quite as highly as 'Un condamné à mort s'est échappé' or 'Pickpocket', maybe because sometimes I hear, so to speak, Bresson's brain creak as he works on his message. But the last couple of minutes are perfect. My eyes start pricking. Not so much because the poor animal is a dying a slow yet beautiful death, on a sunlit hillside, surrounded by placid sheep. Or because of any implied symbolism (the Redeemer dying for His flock). My best explanation is a 'parallel', the end of a poem by the Scottish poet Sorely MacLean about the mountains of the Isle of Skye:
' beyond misery, despair, hatred, treachery,/ beyond guilt and defilement: watchful,/ heroic, the Cuillin is seen/ rising on the other side of sorrow.'
Robert Bresson used the medium of film for unusual purposes. His minimalism stimulates your attention: you scan gestures, looks and shabby interiors for clues. Sounds – a key turning in a lock, a tram passing, a donkey's braying, brief snatches of music - take on a heightened meaning. A few seconds of classical music are often heard when there is a 'window of opportunity' for a human being. True, Bresson demands a lot from the viewer, and with some films I just gave up; but I prefer that to the attitude of many film directors who make me feel insulted: another simpleton has been duped into paying for a piece of trash providing two hours of oblivion.
Bresson disliked acting, as it got in the way of what he wanted to express with his films; instead he worked with amateurs, 'models' who were not allowed to dramatize or psychologize. The most extreme example of his approach is 'Au hasard Balthasar', where the protagonist is a donkey called Balthasar subjected to and witnessing human vices. 'Au hasard' means at random, and all the cruelty seems random. But I wonder, with my imperfect French, whether au hasard in this case could not be a 'call to action': 'au secours' means help!, so maybe 'take your chance (in life)' is a possible translation here.
Although I'm familiar with Bresson's unusual approach it took me a couple of viewings to understand that the 'story' and the 'characters' mean even less in this film than in others. There is a story –Balthasar's successive misadventures and occasional rebellions, ending in death – but it is not a very coherent one, more a succession of scenes illustrating various forms of human shortcomings and nastiness, personified by a variety of well, models. All of this is just there to bring out the patient suffering of the donkey, who in the process becomes, as one of the few decent people in the film says, 'a saint' and dies a painful yet peaceful death. You can see the animal as a symbol of Christ, as many have done, and for a catholic like Bresson it would be a 'natural' symbol. But I'm always wary about symbolism in film - you'd end up needing a user's manual ('this actually means that'), and a film which requires a manual is no good. Rather, Bresson stimulates a sort of hyper-awareness of the world by the way he shows it.
Balthasar's various owners impose a role on the donkey, who usually puts up with it but never becomes a satisfactory actor from a human point of view ('good for you', I always think when a cat refuses to obey). There is a memorable scene where Balthasar is 'employed' in a circus (soon to be kicked out) and is led past cages with other animals. They eye each other; we are briefly in their world: trapped, but never willing servants. When the humans create havoc in the film, the camera zooms in on the donkey's profile, quite still – the eye of the storm, you might say.
I do not value this film quite as highly as 'Un condamné à mort s'est échappé' or 'Pickpocket', maybe because sometimes I hear, so to speak, Bresson's brain creak as he works on his message. But the last couple of minutes are perfect. My eyes start pricking. Not so much because the poor animal is a dying a slow yet beautiful death, on a sunlit hillside, surrounded by placid sheep. Or because of any implied symbolism (the Redeemer dying for His flock). My best explanation is a 'parallel', the end of a poem by the Scottish poet Sorely MacLean about the mountains of the Isle of Skye:
' beyond misery, despair, hatred, treachery,/ beyond guilt and defilement: watchful,/ heroic, the Cuillin is seen/ rising on the other side of sorrow.'
Black Book
(2006)
It wasn't like that at all
31 January 2013
I once knew a Dutch lady who as a young girl had lived through the Battle of Arnhem. Asked what she thought of the film 'A Bridge too Far' she said: 'It wasn't like that at all'. 'Zwartboek', a film on the theme of resistance and repression in the Netherlands during World War II, has an even more tenuous link to reality, although Verhoeven has invested heavily in making the thing look realistic: dialogues in four languages; lots of historic vehicles and aircraft; celebrations of the liberation modelled on colour pictures available from those days; soup kitchens with boys scraping out the food containers; the delectable Carice van Houten dyeing all her hair in order to become Aryan Ellis instead of Jewish Rachel. That includes her pubic hair, and here we get a glimpse (or two) of what Verhoeven really wanted to do with this picture: make lots of money. Which is fine, and not something most Dutch film directors are good at.
'Zwartboek' is not a documentary. But if you spend so much on recreating reality you might as well do it properly – I want value for money when I watch a film. Knowing a few things about pre-1960s planes I felt cheated right at the start: Verhoeven might have rented an authentic German plane to intercept the American bomber – they are available. Then, in order to gain height, the stricken bomber jettisons its bombs. Quite logical, but it would do that in one go, not as shown: one, just a splash in the lake two, a bit of an explosion right next to the little yacht carrying Rachel and a friend which briefly rocks the boat three – wham!!! There goes the remote farm in which she hides from the Nazis. These are on the spot in half a minute (I timed them), Rachel's identity card is found and the fun can start.
Some scenes in the film hit home alright. But there is just too much nonsense:
I have known people who were in the Dutch resistance, who were imprisoned in German camps, who spent years in hiding. I am pretty certain that they would have found this film cheap, in spite of all the expense, and that they would have said: 'It wasn't like that at all.'
'Zwartboek' is not a documentary. But if you spend so much on recreating reality you might as well do it properly – I want value for money when I watch a film. Knowing a few things about pre-1960s planes I felt cheated right at the start: Verhoeven might have rented an authentic German plane to intercept the American bomber – they are available. Then, in order to gain height, the stricken bomber jettisons its bombs. Quite logical, but it would do that in one go, not as shown: one, just a splash in the lake two, a bit of an explosion right next to the little yacht carrying Rachel and a friend which briefly rocks the boat three – wham!!! There goes the remote farm in which she hides from the Nazis. These are on the spot in half a minute (I timed them), Rachel's identity card is found and the fun can start.
Some scenes in the film hit home alright. But there is just too much nonsense:
- A river barge is to take a number of refugees through the Biesbosch marshes to the safety of the liberated south of the Netherlands. This sort of thing did happen regularly towards the end of the war, but not on that (dangerous) scale and the skipper would (a) never have set out in broad daylight; (b) have made sure that his passengers were hidden below deck instead of lounging on top as if on a cruise. But of course that makes it easier for them to be shot, which happens. After a hit in the forehead the indestructible Rachel makes her escape.
- Ellis and the rather nice Sicherheitsdienst officer (something of a contradiction) she will eventually bed for the sake of the resistance get friendly over his stamp collection! Well, this apparently happened in those days: I read somewhere that war-time US president Roosevelt seduced a woman that way. (Our heroine – a feminist touch - does the philatelic seducing).
- Why on earth would the baddie risk his life in the shootout in the cellar of the SD building? And why would the Germans have bothered setting such a risky trap when they could quite simply have blocked the coal chute of the cellar? (Likely answer: because then there would have been no reason for a shootout).
- The cauldron of ordure poured out over Ellis as a suspected 'Moffenhoer' (Nazi whore). It is a fact that those suspected of collaborating with the Germans were often subjected to inhuman treatment; but this is Grand Guignol theatre, Wagner from the sewers.
- I was soon laughing again, though. The near-final scene, where the baddie gets screwed (literally) in his coffin, was straight out of Polanski's 'Fearless Vampire Killers'. A real howler.
I have known people who were in the Dutch resistance, who were imprisoned in German camps, who spent years in hiding. I am pretty certain that they would have found this film cheap, in spite of all the expense, and that they would have said: 'It wasn't like that at all.'
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